hallucinations, cancer and the purple tree

 

I have a hammer on the bed,
rubber grip, the back two-pronged
like a crowbar, heavy
                                        three steps to the bed
she thinks, calmly

she knows the shadow on the wall is
not there, moving
probably

she knows she is only spooning food into her baby’s mouth
on a cloudy afternoon

she knows,
she knows,
that she is alone



in my dream you are not dead yet
nor dying

in my dream, the one with the
purple tree, who flings her hands into a lightning-struck sky
you are waiting for me
to find you

I follow the path again
and again

and when I wake,
everyone is rushing to follow you
home